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Taking a page from Mona's book, my response to one of her threads gave me an idea for a new thread...

What funny thing did you do as a kid? Or, if you have kids, funny kid stories?

(Thinking they would make excellent noseplugs because they are shaped exactly like nostrils, I shoved pussy-willows up my nose at the age of 7 and had to get them removed by a doctor.)

I could write a BOOK about my son.

I'm talking on the phone. He marches into the room, pants around his ankles, holding a purple Crayola marker. He says, "Look Mommy! I'm an elephant!" I immediately noticed that he had in fact turned himself into an elephant, using the marker. (Three guesses where the trunk was...) Said I to the person on the phone, "Um, I'll call you back!"

One other time, when he was supposed to be napping, I came downstairs to find the little guy in his underpants, sitting in a big puddle of chocolate milk in the middle of the kitchen floor. In one hand, one of our bathroom washcloths. In the other, one of the glasses from the tippy-top shelf of the cupboard. He was wiping the milk from the floor and squeezing it into his glass, after trying to sneak some and spilling it. He'd then stacked a chair, a laundry basket and two phone books together to get the cup, run up to get the washcloth...

One final daughter is a history buff and is really interested in watching movies about things that really happened. Watching it with her and alerting her to hide her eyes during "yucky parts," she and I were watching "Braveheart," and I was explaining things to her. I didn't think much of it when my son came into the room for a bit, and then wandered back up to his room...he wasn't in there for long. Anyway, the other day, he says, "Mommy, will you watch a movie with me?" I said "Sure, what do you want to watch?" and he says "No, what do YOU want to watch?" and I say "No, what do YOU want to watch?" and this goes on a few times, just to make him giggle...then...when his turn came around he cops a 5-year-old Scottish accent and says "The Almighty says don't cheenj the soobject...joost anser the fookin QUESTION!" (I was too busy howling to yell at him, though he does understand he's not allowed to do it again...)
Original Post
I used to do mean sneaky things to my brother, such as put rocks in the snowballs I chucked at him. He paid me back though with worms in my shoes and his muddy hands all over my white pants.
Here's a kids-and-markers story: in '99, my two had back to back go rounds with chicken pox. After recovery, we were very late getting out of the house for something important. I was in the shower and they came in, pulled back the curtain and said "Cant' go, mom...we've got chicken pox again." They'd taken a red marker and given themselves spots ALL OVER.
Mona's smoking comments put me in mind of something rather disgusting that my brother and I took to doing when we were kids.

We were playing some board game (I forget what exactly, now) across the living room table, quite close to a half-full ashtray my father had left there. I was talking, while at the same time leaning down to move a board piece, and accidentally happened to blow in the ashtray, making the ash "dance".

Needless to say my younger brother thought this was funny and wanted to have a go as well, and so we ended up blowing ash out of the ashtray, all over the table, and into each other's faces.

Still, as my grandmother was known to say, "It's all funny until someone loses an eye"... (none of us ever *did* that, I'd just like to point out, but once when grandma was whupping me with a wooden spoon for making some cheeky remark, the spoon broke, and the two of us just looked at each other and burst out laughing. End of butt-whupping!) Big Grin
this isn't really bad behavior - but it's pretty funny. i was 8 or so and got mad at my mom - who knows for what - and said i was running away. i got my backpack, put a few things in it, and as i was walking out the door she said "here. you're going to get hungry." SHE'D PACKED ME A LUNCH!

the thing was, to get anywhere, i would have had to cross a busy street, a street i was not allowed to cross alone. she knew i wouldn't do it. and she found me where she knew i'd be, about an hour later. sitting on the curb eating my sandwich.

p.s. kia - the SAME thing happened to my brother as regards the wooden spoon. my mom, italian, chased us with it all the time when we were little - she took it out on my brother when he was a teenager, half knee-jerk reaction, half in jest, i think. it split in two and we all just about busted a gut over that.
When my younger son was about two years old, I awoke one morning to see him standing next to my bed, and he was covered in red. My first thought was, "Oh my GOD! He's bleeding!" When I discovered what he'd been up to, bleeding would have been too good for him. He'd gotten hold of a bottle of bright red nail polish and had "painted" himself (and the living room rug and the chair) with it. Yeesh. That rug was never the same...

My brother at about the same age managed to open a new bottle of Crisco cooking oil (the old-fashioned ones had metal caps that you needed pliers [spanners to you UK readers] and a strong man to open) on the new carpet my parents had just had put down in the kitchen. Needless to say, a new tile floor was installed right after.

Ahhhhh, kids.




two things come to mind. or more.

during my recent stay with my boyfriend in australia, he showed me a journal his mother kept, recording his behavior patterns sporadically between the time of his birth and the age of 10. at the age of three she wrote that he was in the passenger seat of the car when someone cut her off. he proceeded to stick his head out the window and swear at the driver: "JESUS CRUST!"

when i was in high school, i HATED (and i emphasize the hate here) my algebra teacher. she left a sour taste in my mouth because she would inexplicably move me to another desk whenever it was exam time. i could only assume that it was because she thought i would cheat off my neighbor's paper, which was completely unfair.
so i protested by not showing up to class for six weeks.
my mother found out, had a fit, threatened to send me to catholic school. she didn't, in the end.. but i did have to re-take the class during the summer with the much more pleasant baseball coach, mr. fisch.

before that i got in trouble for forging signatures on detention slips in junior high.
in second grade i think i cheated on a spelling test and was sent to the office.
but in sixth grade i won third place in the spelling bee. so it all worked out in the end.


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